


Romantic Bloodthirsty Favors

by Feech



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Devil of Mercy, Established Relationship, Hickeys, Intimacy, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Rape, Sex, Stiles is nineteen years old, fanfic of a fanfic, partial shapeshifting (werewolf)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-12 20:42:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3354641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feech/pseuds/Feech
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on "Devil of Mercy" by KouriArashi</p>
<p>During a sexual encounter with Peter, Stiles experiences a range of emotions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Romantic Bloodthirsty Favors

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KouriArashi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KouriArashi/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Devil of Mercy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2533796) by [KouriArashi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KouriArashi/pseuds/KouriArashi). 



> Many thanks to my husband [Channing](https://scrivnarium.wordpress.com/) for the betaread.  
> ***  
> "Gee, Peter, what do you wanna do tonight?"
> 
> "The same thing we do every night, Stiles. Try to take over the world!"
> 
> ***

Stiles is inside of Peter.

Okay, his dick is inside of Peter's ass, but that doesn't do justice to the momentousness of what he is doing. This was never allowed. Before Peter, Stiles never experienced penetrating another man because they never wanted to let him do it.

He is on top of Peter, which has happened, yes, once before so far in their time together, but in that instance--and it was an exhilarating one--Peter was inside of _him_. Peter already seems to surround him all the time; to have another part of Peter's body embracing him is special.

The bed is dimly illuminated from across the room, by light shining through the open bathroom door. Peter is on his back, sucking in breath, throat exposed, jaw and neck tight, eyes squeezed shut. His hips are kept in place, tilted up, by a pillow at the small of his back, and the pillow is kept in place by Stiles's knees. From where he kneels thrusting into Peter, Stiles can reach down with one hand and find Peter's tailbone. He caresses it, feeling clumsy, but in response to a tickle Peter hisses and brings his hips up. He presses onto Stiles's cock at a new angle and Stiles bucks and gasps, unconsciously rubbing more firmly at the tailbone.

Peter lets his right hand gravitate towards his cock and Stiles spies it. "Don't do that," he says urgently. "I'll take care of you." But he doesn't know, yet, how he'll do that. Peter grimaces, withdraws his hand and knots up a fistful of bedsheet.

Before he penetrated his mate, Stiles fingered him carefully, trying to duplicate what he would like, himself, and worrying whether that would be good enough for Peter. But he was so intent on doing it correctly and getting inside that he didn't think, until now, of surprising Peter, worshiping his body some before moving in. _I'm not as good as he always is at this. I just... went on in. Now what? If I finish, and he finishes, we're done for now. Can't let that happen._

Peter must have known before they got started that Stiles would enter him, though in Stiles's mind it was a bold plan. He was worried he wasn't supposed to suggest it. Peter has never mentioned it. When Peter told him to do whatever he liked, that he wanted to lie back that night and let Stiles take the lead, Stiles fixed wide, timid eyes on his alpha, his mind racing. He immediately thought to go ahead and enter him, and he didn't know whether to ask or just do it. He figured taking the lead meant just doing it--and when he did it, Peter looked smug, as if it was exactly what he had expected Stiles to do; although when Stiles penetrated as deeply as he could, that wiped the smug right off of Peter's face.

Sometimes he pauses to feel Peter's body contracting around him. Then he pants and holds off the urge to thrust hard into that pressure. Stiles thinks he'll hold off and find more things to do for Peter while he's inside him, get more practice, think of what they can do next. But that tightness flickering in his cock means he won't have much time to think. 

He sees Peter half-open his eyes, watching him. Peter says, "You look good, kiddo," and that blows Stiles's plans right there. He grips at Peter's knee. The hand that had been petting Peter's tailbone grabs at the werewolf's shin instead as Stiles shoves in deeper. Peter gives a cry when Stiles hits a sweet spot the boy didn't know how to consciously find, but he's darn well going to find out how to repeat that, sometime soon. Somewhere in the haze of slow-licking flames turned steady burn he becomes aware that he has come inside Peter, and that this is a very good thing. His orgasm endures far longer than he's used to, extended by the realization that he has climaxed inside of his alpha.

Stiles eases out, wincing, and Peter hisses. Stiles inhales raggedly, supports himself on Peter's knees, and gives the werewolf a determined look. "Okay," he improvises. "That was foreplay."

Peter is flushed over face and chest from the rutting but is otherwise almost as unruffled as usual. He arches an eyebrow in an "Oh, really?" expression. 

Stiles scrambles, half on his knees, half-sitting, alongside Peter until he comes up to the nearest of two bedside tables and reaches for a full glass. "I need a drink of water before we really get started."

"Is that your glass? I thought yours was on the other nightstand."

"This is my glass. I can't believe you are so fussy about this. I put mine on this nightstand. My lips have not been on your glass."

"How did you end up putting your glass on my side of the bed?"

"Oh for-- yeah, 'cause I never spend any time on _your_ side of the bed. Are you asking me to get _your_ glass? Here." Stiles climbs over Peter, shuffles on his knees across some sheets and blankets, makes a long arm, and hands Peter the other glass.

"Don't judge." Peter accepts _his_ glass and takes a demonstrative, possessive sip.

As soon as Peter puts his glass down on the closest table, Stiles straddles him and gives him a wet, sloppy kiss, licking outside the lines, going so far as to run his tongue up to the tip of Peter's nose. Peter lavishly reciprocates. He knows that sliding his tongue in and out from a corner of Stiles's lips to the inside of the cheek makes Stiles especially sensitive. He elicits a short moan from the boy before Stiles smooches on Peter's lower lip, then eases away and sits back on his heels. 

"See?" He fishes a pillow out of the mussed-up bedclothes and gently baps Peter with it.

"Are you making a point?"

Stiles tosses the pillow aside. "Oh, well. It's a small thing to do to please you, and I'm happy to do that, even if you're nuttier than a Snickers bar." 

Stiles slides up beside Peter, presses warmly against him, then collapses over Peter's shoulders, fingering and lipping at his hair. He has this whole gorgeous masculine werewolf body to work with. Peter always seems to know ahead of time what to do. Stiles doesn't know how to do that. He's making it up as he goes along, hoping this is good enough. He begins with a kiss on the cheek. His lips feel how hot it still is from the "foreplay".

He finds out with his nose and tongue whether Peter's armpits are ticklish. Not particularly, it turns out, though Stiles does love nuzzling up under Peter's arm.

A backrub is a nice thing, and he might do it, but it doesn't seem like he's got the subtlety yet with backrubs to drive Peter wild with one. Peter has given him a backrub before. Stiles felt as if he melted, and had to become solid again afterwards.

Stiles kisses Peter's nose, neatly this time. Peter hums, and Stiles runs his hands back down and his fingers play across Peter's chest. Eyelids half-closed, wafting small breaths over Peter's nipples, he absently fingers his own nipples, and feels his own cock stirring. It's not a surprise to him anymore when he experiences more than one hard-on in a session with Peter.

He traces ribs, breastbone, the curve under the pectoral, and spreads a hand and just lets his palm fall barely over an erect nipple. He thinks he can get that nipple tighter, harder. He licks a finger and draws it over the tip, and Peter takes a shuddering breath. Stiles cups his hands around the nipple and breathes into the enclosed space he's made, until it's warm and steamy. Peter hums in approval. Then Stiles licks the nipple, still with his warm hands covering Peter's skin. He withdraws from that side of the chest slowly, lightly resting one palm on the warm spot, then takes that away, too, leaving the nipple stimulated and taut in the open air. He starts in on the opposite side of Peter's chest. 

Without looking up from what he's doing, he reaches over and gives the nipple he's left alone the barest twist between finger and thumb.

Peter doesn't make a sound, but he jumps--his shoulders come off the bed, he hikes a knee up, and claps a hand over Stiles's back. Peter is curled around him so that Stiles feels the tip of Peter's erection against the crease of his armpit, and he makes a muffled, indignant sound, leaving off kissing Peter just long enough to push the werewolf's hips back down. "No, that's cheating. Don't touch anyplace on me with your cock until I say so." 

Peter writhes, raking his hands over Stiles's head, nape and temples, while his hips tilt sideways and he raises his knee again, but not so far this time as before. 

Stiles grips Peter's sides, massaging roughly. He licks his way from waist to breastbone, and when he swipes his tongue across that area he snatches at Peter's collarbone with one hand. Peter's neck and shoulders relax and his arms go limp. Stiles's hands ramble back up behind Peter's ears, over his scalp--Peter's currently human ear tips twitch repeatedly.

Peter hums and holds loosely onto Stiles's back. Stiles kisses Peter's forehead and eyebrows, dabs each cheek with the tip of his tongue, then wanders back chestward. He nips Peter's chin on the way.

Much of this time Stiles's chest and belly have brushed across or rested on Peter's nipples. These are now so erect that when Stiles drifts a palm over one, Peter pants desperately; his belly twitches and his cock shudders. Stiles kisses first one side of Peter's chest, then the other, and Peter's arms and neck go rigid. Stiles is only kissing gently, but the nipples are straining so that it feels as if his lips are pulling them up.

He licks one and Peter opens his mouth silently, but Stiles leaves off then and goes to kneading the werewolf's right shoulder. Peter groans and wolfs out just a smidge. He runs the tips of his claws over Stiles's spine; the teen's back shudders and he whimpers as he mouths Peter's shoulder. 

Stiles moves to the upper arm, rubbing hard and nipping. Peter drapes his free arm over Stiles, lightly drumming his claws across the warm back. Stiles arches to meet his palm. Then he's roaming back over Peter's chest. 

When Stiles rubs a hand over his nipples again Peter gasps, "Ah, easy." 

Stiles doesn't hear him.

Stiles nuzzles around the pectorals, then pulls Peter's right hand up to his mouth and entangles their fingers, rubbing and twisting, stopping to suck and nibble the pads of the fingertips, below the claw points. He licks between and up the sides of Peter's fingers. Peter accommodates him, spreading his hand wide.

Moments later, Stiles again passes his busy fingers over Peter's nipples, both in succession, and Peter again rumbles, "Easy, easy." 

Stiles immediately passes his hand back over the other way, tickling, but it has the effect of a pinch on Peter's overstimulated nipples. When Stiles tilts a nipple with the side of his finger and it pops back up, Peter groans and grits his teeth. 

"Stop," says Peter. Stiles kisses a nipple. 

Peter grimaces, "The nipples need a break, Sir." Stiles continues gently kissing them. 

Peter's left shoulder arches up and his fingers flutter near Stiles's cheek as the boy gradually applies teeth to his right nipple.

Peter gasps and pants. "Stiles, Sir," he repeats softly, "The nipples. Need. A break." He strokes Stiles's hair. "Want to look at me?"

Stiles swallows and lifts his head, feeling a little as if he's just waking up. Peter smiles and winks at him, still stroking his hair. "And... We're back."

Stiles stares for a second, then flails and scrambles backward into a sitting position, sprawled halfway off Peter's stomach, fingers balancing him on Peter's ribcage, but ready to bolt off the bed and out the door. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God. I didn't stop when you asked me to."

"It's fine. You were only hyperfocusing, and a little greedy, maybe. I'm glad you feel you can cut loose. It's flattering."

"Oh--my _God_ how can you say that? It's not flattering! I'm out of control and that is never okay."

Peter says patiently, "You aren't anywhere near the definition of 'out of control'. You just didn't hear me. I would have let you go on, but at this point my chest feels like it's scorching. I didn't want to let myself get too overstimulated... I might have ended up speaking sharply, and that would have startled you."

"How can you be so _calm_? I hurt you."

"Stiles." Peter pats his forearm gently. "You can't hurt me."

Stiles wheezes. "But I could hurt you _emotionally_. We need to get you some kind of safe word."

"No," says Peter. "We don't need a safe word, that's the opposite of what we'd need, because you didn't hear me when I said easy, or stop, so--"

Stiles turns anguished eyes on him. "But then what do I do? What if you have to force me off of you? What if you have to hurt me?"

Peter frowns. His throat tightens, and he humanizes his features. "Settle down, Stiles. I wouldn't hurt you. There is no need to panic."

"I'm not panicking!"

"You are. You're hyperventilating."

But Stiles doesn't begin with his usual calming practices. He grabs Peter's hand and puts it over his heart. "Touch me." 

So Peter spreads his warm fingers over Stiles's chest. "Breathe in through your nose, _slowly_."

"We need some kind of plan." Stiles is still breathing too fast. "Something to do when I don't listen to you. Wait--my mouth is buzzing and I feel all wrong. I think I am having a panic attack."

"It's the breathing. Breathe in slowly. Or just hold your breath, right?"

Stiles nods fearfully, but continues to take puffing breaths; he clamps a hand over his mouth and nose to stop himself. 

After a few seconds Peter takes Stiles's fingers, one by one, until he can hold the entire hand and expose the boy's mouth and nose again. He looks Stiles in his wet brown eyes. "Let me show you what it would be like if I ever had to force you off of me."

Stiles quakes.

"'Force' is the wrong word. More like 'take' you off of me. Climb on."

Stiles climbs on over Peter's ribcage.

"I can just tip you off. Try holding on tightly. Don't let my shoulders go. I'll show you. Pretend you're out of control."

"I pretty much feel like I am out of control." His fingers vibrate when he digs them into Peter's shoulders.

Once Stiles is latched on, Peter rises, turns onto his side, rolls his shoulders and half-shifts them, enlarging the places where Stiles has hold of him. Stiles hasn't regained his grip on the smooth, swelling shoulders before Peter tips him off onto his back and pats him once on the chest. "Were you holding on as tight as you could?"

"Yes."

"Alright, then. See, I got you to stop, and are you hurt?"

Stiles gulps. "No. Are you?"

"Certainly not." 

"But I'm not _really_ out of control."

"If in some extremely unlikely scenario you were truly out of control I could pin you down. But I won't, ever, because I know it'd make you squirrely."

"No, you could do whatever you want to me. I trust you."

"As you can see, I don't have to restrain you."

"Peter, if you do restrain me, it's going to be because you had to for some reason... Or, um, because sometime I might ask you to."

Peter's jaw slacks and his eyes flash at that.

"But, y'know, I'm gonna think about it first," says Stiles.

"Of course. You take your time."

But Stiles lies there trembling, not seeming comforted by these revelations of Peter's prowess. Peter regards him with warm, soft eyes, and Stiles gazes back, knowing what's coming and shivering all the more. Peter's going to figure him out. The only thing is, as usual, that Stiles doesn't have the faintest idea what it is Peter is going to figure out. He would blurt out a confession if he had one, but he's got nothing. 

Peter bends down and exhales over Stiles's nose and lips. "I know what I can do to stop you if you can't pay attention to 'no' or 'stop.'"

"What?" Stiles asks, eager and anxious.

"I'll just shout, 'Pizza's here!'"

Stiles, who had been tensed up, sags and gives Peter a dark look. He says flatly, "Oh my God you bastard, I thought you were going to be serious. Now whenever you tell me the delivery guy's here with supper, I'm going to think you're in distress. Good job." He gives Peter a hard stare and pinches him on the lower arm.

"Ouch," says Peter dutifully. But there's always that aloof, unruffled, amused expression.

"Tell me an alpha secret."

"Sure."

"How can you look so superior, and smug, and yet so sweet at the same time?"

Peter smiles brightly. "Good genes."

Stiles shakes his head and grins, because what the hell, Peter. "I'd better master homemade pizza, I guess." A tear drops down his cheek and he brushes at it; it's so unexpected, he's sobbing before he even realizes he's crying. "I'm sorry! This is stupid! I don't know where this is coming from."

Peter offers to gather Stiles into a hug, and, as usual, Stiles latches right on. Peter holds him, rocking slightly, seated in the middle of the bed. 

"Let me guess," Peter says quietly, and Stiles knows his mate has found whatever it is he hasn't consciously thought of, himself. "I'm going to come out and ask this, and if you don't answer it's okay, but it might help me to understand. Did someone in your past tell you to take charge, and then when you tried something they didn't like, did they beat you?"

Stiles frowns hard. His eyes are big, dark and liquid. He still has tears running down his cheeks and even streaking his neck. "I refuse to answer--answer that on the grounds that--I might embarrass myself even more with--with more bawling."

Peter says, businesslike, "Add that person's name to my book to be dealt with later. We can take our time. They will all come within easy reach sooner rather than later." 

Stiles sniffles, draws the back of a hand over his eyes. "You have a book?" 

Peter enfolds Stiles further, stroking the tears on his throat. "Not a separate book. I use my day planner. Get it out of my man-purse tomorrow morning. Add this fucker's specs under the tab in back where I wrote in marker, 'Kill For Stiles.'"

"You do the most romantic bloodthirsty favors for me."

"In this instance there is indeed a fine line between 'romantic offering' and 'quenching my own blood thirst.' The only question is whether to plan a little beforehand what to do to him, or to get inspired at the last moment. The unmentionable who did that to you was probably baiting you, to lull you into a false sense of security, and the very thought of anyone doing that to you makes me ill. I'm certain that he was a coward. He was afraid of you. I'm not afraid of you."

Peter's words make Stiles go limp all over with letting go of his painful anxiety. He would flop loosely down to the bed, but Peter's got him so securely hugged that he stays upright. "He did what you just said, for doing things he didn't like, and then he also--he told me not to do things I was doing--and I stopped because he told me to stop. And then he--yes, what you said, beat me, again, because I was supposed to keep going no matter what he said. He wouldn't use a safe word, and I thought it would have been handy. I mean, damn. But it's like you figured. He needed to keep me guessing. I felt like I could handle it, at the time. I didn't know it was getting to me until you figured it out." Stiles sniffles loudly and clears his throat. "You always know stuff about me before I do, myself. I feel silly that I let this get to me tonight. I'm supposed to be giving you a good time."

Peter strokes the short hair over Stiles's ear. "Silly? Your resilience is astounding. I've lost my mind over things less confusing than what you went through. It's outrageous abuse. I'll get the particulars from you on the monster in question, and lull _him_ into a false sense of security, and then confuse him, and then hurt him, and scare him, but not for long."

Stiles takes a hitching breath and says gamely, "So I take it we're going with the 'planning ahead' option?"

"That's simply a rough outline. I welcome your input on the matter. The only constant is that _the sonofabitch dies_."

Stiles wipes his eyes and smiles shakily. "That's so nice of you, Peter. Thank you."

Peter touches the tip of Stiles's slightly turned-up nose. Stiles ducks his forehead and softly bumps Peter's hand. He gives a tiny sigh. Peter kisses him on the temple.

Suddenly Stiles lifts his head, bright-eyed. Peter loosens his arms and lets down the knee that was supporting Stiles's hip, and Stiles wriggles out of the hug and clambers over to one of the bedside lamps, switching it on.

"Why are you turning on the lamp? Are we done here?"

Stiles looks anxious again. "Do we have to be done? I don't want to be done. I want to keep going, I have a plan, that's why I turned on the light. Can't we keep going?"

"Of course, I'd like to keep going. But weren't you in fight-or-flight a moment ago?"

"I'm good now, I promise."

Peter reaches out and strokes Stiles's cheek. "I admire Scott McCall, and your dad. How do they do it?"

"Do what?"

"Keep up with your emotions. I intend to teach myself to run alongside and keep up the way Scott and your father do." 

"Oh, that. You do fine."

"So, we're going on? What's your plan?"

"I'm turning on the light so I can see the marks."

"What marks?"

"I'm gonna leave a mark," says Stiles. 

"A mark?" 

"I'm giving you a hickey."

Peter sits back against a pillow at the headboard with some of that familiar smug expression. It makes Stiles want to bite him. So he does. On the elbow, worrying at the thin, finely wrinkled skin over the bone, but Peter only smiles faintly. "They'll heal immediately."

"Then I bet they'll show up quicker," says Stiles, cradling Peter's wrist in his hand and muffled by elbow, "before they disappear."

"We'll see. That's... a weird place for a hickey."

"This isn't the place I'm putting one! This is just a little revenge for your being, um, haughty and stuff."

"Then I deserve it."

"I'll put the hickey on the inside of the elbow. Or on your neck. Neck first. Can I do your thighs, too?"

"Do whatever you like."

Stiles leaves Peter's mildly gnawed elbow and examines the werewolf's neck. Stiles works, first, in the indentation between Adam's apple and muscle. As soon as he fiercely applies suction, Peter siezes up. " _Ah_ \--" he growls when he finds his voice "--I shouldn't be surprised--that's--intense."

Stiles eases his lips off of the area and mumbles with his mouth on Peter's neck, "Skills. You want me to stop?"

"No, it's okay. Are you claiming me as yours? With a mark?"

"I'm doing something to change you. To affect you," Stiles mutters around the patch of skin he's been drawing into his mouth. 

Peter groans and exposes his neck all the more, then says faintly, "You've done that."

Stiles hears. He understands. He lifts his head and gets up on his knees so he can kiss Peter on the mouth. Peter gives him a series of dabbing, puppy-style licks. Stiles wrinkles his nose and lingers in the kiss, but when he's done, he returns to his hickey-creating mission. "That should do it," he says less than thirty seconds later. "Now we let that cook." He licks his chops and gets a drink, with Peter watching him narrowly. "Gonna work on your elbow," Stiles says.

He starts on the inside of the elbow he had earlier been biting. He tickles the inner crease of the elbow with his fingertips, first, and Peter watches him, bemused.

"I just--somethin' to do with my hands," says Stiles, and Peter takes the tickling fingers and tries to redirect them to his cock. Stiles gives Peter a naughty look. "If I wanted my fingers on your dick, that's where they'd be."

"So sorry," Peter smirks. "But if you don't get to me soon enough, I'm going to come without your pretty hands having anything to do with it."

Stiles blushes at the compliment to his hands. But he says authoritatively, "Not what I had in mind. You have to wait for me, I know you can control yourself. Gonna be quiet now. Can't break the seal." Stiles attacks the tender skin and Peter has to hiss again.

Stiles seems to be completely focused on his self-appointed task, but he's got one eye on Peter's throat. 

In a short while Stiles gives a sudden gasp, breaking the seal. He kisses, then licks, the spot he's working on, swallows, then lunges over Peter's arm to grab the phone off the bedside table.

Peter watches mildly. 

Stiles touches Peter's jaw to get him to further expose his throat. He snaps a photo of the pink fading in on the delicate skin and looks at it with a little smile of satisfaction. "I'll get another as soon as the hickey's darker."

"Who are you planning to send that to?" asks Peter, in his faintly amused way.

"Your _mom_ ," Stiles says spontaneously, then furrows his brow. "Do you have a mom, Peter?"

"Alas. Not any longer."

"I'm sorry. That's too bad," Stiles sighs. "Anyway, I wasn't gonna do anything with the photo except maybe keep it. And I don't need a photo when I can make more hickeys." He tosses the phone aside and bends, butt in the air, chin at Peter's pelvis, to try to part the werewolf's legs and suck some marks onto his thighs. Peter has no objection. All he does is lift Stiles's near knee and cross it over his torso. "Getting a better view," he murmurs. He strokes and pats that ass.

Stiles makes muffled sounds, which may or may not consist of words--he's too busy to enunciate. His eyes are closed, lips sealed around a spot on Peter's inner thigh. 

He comes up for a break and slides off of Peter. He admires the effect his attention to the thighs has had on the werewolf's cock. "Gonna get another hickey picture." He finds the phone, and looks at Peter's inner elbow. "That one already worked, too. Look."

Peter looks. The spot is bright rose. He stares for a second. "What's the one on my throat look like?"

Stiles shrugs. "Brown. It was pink. Hang on." He snaps the photo.

The outer ring of the elbow mark is shading to violet. "I can feel my thighs buzzing where you left off," says Peter. "But nothing to see yet."

Stiles has dropped the phone somewhere in the bedding and plays his fingers across the elbow spot.

"Give me that phone," Peter demands, growling, eyes instantly red. Stiles snatches the phone and tosses it between them on the bed. 

There have been uncommon moments when, just for a beat, Stiles has to remind himself that if Peter wanted to hurt him, he would have done it by now. In spite of every calming thing Peter said only minutes ago, Stiles feels his human version of hackles stand up on the nape of his neck, and the small of his back tingles. He doesn't want to feel nervous around Peter, and forces himself to scoot closer.

Peter has evidently already caught the changes in Stiles. "That's right. There's nothing to be afraid of." He fiddles with the phone. "I want to see the picture." 

Stiles takes a long, shuddering sigh and brushes a fingertip over the blooming bruise on Peter's neck. Peter's eyes are on the phone, but he reaches up and touches his own neck, as well as Stiles's busy fingers. 

Then the werewolf sets the phone down and regards the two water glasses on the bedside table. Seeing him pause, Stiles points and Peter sips, but even as he's doing so his nostril curls. Stiles notices Peter's firming cock jump,and a wicked self-satisfied spark comes into the teen's eye. 

Just under where Peter's shirt collar would normally be, at the rear curve of his neck, the skin is more sensitive even than on his throat. Stiles has designs on it. He drapes himself across Peter's neck and arm and down his side while Peter has his drink of water. As soon as the glass is set down again Stiles kisses that spot. Peter, knowing well what is coming, raises his hand near Stiles's head. Stiles takes the hand and intertwines fingers, and Peter gives a grim sigh. "It's already sensitive, even when all you're doing is kissing."

"Mm. Want me to stop?"

"Keep going." Peter sits fairly still, but his arms subtly twitch.

Stiles runs his tongue around the inside of his own mouth to loosen up, smooches his target lightly, and starts sucking.

Peter pants as if Stiles has been working him up for hours. After about two seconds: "Are you sure you're sucking and not biting? I feel as if I'm being bitten."

"But you'll say no if you don't like it?"

"Yes, I'll ask you to stop, but I'm not asking you to stop."

"In that case, I know biting from sucking, Alpha Hale." Stiles leaves off his mark-making mission and tightens his grasp on Peter's hand, pressing his teeth into the fleshy base of Peter's thumb, leaving a semi-circle of tooth marks. He chews manfully with his human teeth on the palm just below the base of Peter's forefinger. The skin turns shiny wet from saliva and crimson from gnawing. "This is biting."

"So I see," says Peter.

Stiles eventually licks Peter's palm, thumb and fingers as if he's finishing off a treat, then returns to his mate's neck. Peter's brows are knit and he breathes through his nose as Stiles again pulls that skin into his mouth.

"After this heals," Stiles promises, "Which shouldn't take too long, I'm going to do nothing to this spot but the gentlest--" he leaves off sucking, presses the pads of his fingers to either side of where his mouth was, and darts in a warm lick.

Peter gives a high-pitched moan, a sound Stiles isn't used to hearing from him. He feels his own dick getting hot. He sits back on his heels.

Peter looks at the marks just now growing visible on his thighs and the evolution of the one on his arm. He growls low in his throat and begins to move up on Stiles, turning to face him, placing an arm across beside him, claws planted in the bedding, lip curling. Stiles says, "Down, tiger. Like, literally down on your back. I've got what you need, but you have to be good. Lie down." He guides Peter's head and shoulders onto a stack of pillows so he can access Peter's shifting ears.

Stiles feels Peter's ear tips as they finish elongating.

He plays with Peter's lower canines; Peter swipes his tongue over Stiles's fingers, watching him with red eyes. Stiles feels along Peter's lower front teeth. Then he takes his moistened fingers from Peter's mouth and strokes the wolf-stubble on Peter's cheek. Peter nuzzles his hand.

Stiles cuddles up to Peter's chest and nips his extended ear tip. Peter tells him hoarsely, "If you don't do something about me soon, there won't be anything left for you to do."

"Cry me a river," says Stiles.

"Merely warning you, friendly-like, Sir," Peter's smile shows the wicked points of his eyeteeth.

"You're just trying to get me to do what you want on your terms. You're going to get what you want. When I want to give it to you."

"A man after my own heart." Peter leans to curve his right arm across his chest and over Stiles, "But--" he sucks in a breath "--Seriously..."

"I'm _getting_ to it," growls Stiles. But he's bathing the area behind Peter's left ear tip in licks.

Peter's knee quivers. His left arm, supporting him on an elbow so Stiles has good access to his ear, shakes. He removes his right arm from Stiles's shoulder and Stiles hears rustling as Peter grabs a fistful of the sheet.

"I know you're close. I'll finish up here." He runs the tip of his tongue around the inside edge of Peter's ear, pulls on the lobe with his lips, then lets go and coaxes Peter to lie back. He slides down his alpha's chest with dark, serious eyes fixed on Peter's face. Stiles moves backward until Peter lifts his hips and meets the underside of Stiles's leg with his heavy cock. Stiles rises up, depriving Peter of a place to thrust against, and settles himself below Peter's hips, on the tops of his thighs.

"Touch me," whispers Peter.

"I will." Stiles takes a deep, determined breath, remembers to let it out, decides to give Peter a decent hand job. He sits poised, but doesn't take Peter in his hands yet.

Peter tilts his head, gazing with a mixture of warmth and predatory appraisal at Stiles. 

Stiles dimples. His eyes glint. "You're just lying in wait for me."

"Well, I'm not going to _chase_ you."

"I'm gonna take you apart," Stiles threatens.

"I'd like to see you try."

"That's a promise." 

"I mean I'd really, really like to see you try, because I can _taste_ how good it would be to fuck--whatever it is you want me to fuck right now."

"Stay classy, Peter," Stiles says wryly, leaning down in a careful arch and lipping at that tempting belly button.

" _Ah_ , class can suck my dick. Or you can. You know. _Whatever_." Peter's eyes are coruscating. Stiles glances at them and exhales. 

He decides to say something nice about Peter. He knows that Peter would do it better than he can. Stiles doesn't know how to describe the alpha werewolf musk. "I love the way you smell."

Peter growls, low and rumbling on and on. His shoulder twitches; Stiles can see he's holding back from reaching for his own erection again.

"I like your red eyes. They're pure red. Like, true red. And the glowing and stuff, that's--that's nice."

Peter seems to become mesmerized. His eyelids are fluttering, but mostly closed. Stiles rubs into Peter's thigh joints with his knuckles, pets the soft skin over his balls, presses fingertips below them. "When you're wolfed-out, I can put my hands wherever I want, even in your mouth. And no matter what I do, I'm safe. It's like--you're like--a big lion, and I'm the only one who can handle you without being hurt. That's pretty sexy. And, you might, kind of, like, when you're a wolf, you have this--" Stiles runs a hand over the back of his own neck to demonstrate "--like a ruff, a mane, and if you had your head down and your eyes glowed in the dark someone might mistake you for a real lion, a wild one. Especially with your alpha roar. So that's--that's meant to be a compliment. I like your growl. And your teeth. And also your human body is pretty awesome too."

Peter hums above his ongoing growl. Stiles scootches back, leans down and gently mouths Peter's balls. Peter yells once and his shoulders leave the bed. "Gah! Please Stiles, really, you should--"

"I know." Stiles's eyes are half-lidded, with a hint of naughtiness in them, and he wears an imperious half-smile. "I know I should do something, and I know you can control yourself while I do it."

"You sound so--" Peter draws a ragged breath "--sure of that." He moans-- Stiles's hands are traveling up alongside his cock, stroking his belly. 

"Yeah, I know you can last. Okay, this is how it's gonna work. When I say 'go', you come hard."

Again Peter arches forward, up off of the bedding. He says rapidly as he sinks back, "Yeah I can do that." 

"And no fair being alpha powerful and just bucking me off your legs. If I'm holding you down, either sitting on you, or with my hands, it counts as me really holding you down."

Peter curls his lips, his nostrils are flared, and he makes an unintelligible response in the form of a few groan-growls. 

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes, Stiles."

Peter's fingers are fluttering over his own thigh. Stiles says, "Now put your hands on the sheets. Don't touch yourself, and don't touch me. Please."

Peter manages, with effort, to huff, "'kay," and he grabs a blanket and a handful of sheets and frowns deeply, eyes squeezed shut. He's hot; when Stiles covers his fingers in lube and fans them out down Peter's length, the contrast in temperatures makes the werewolf arch his upper back again.

"You're being so good about my rules," whispers Stiles. 

"Get on with it," Peter rasps.

"So romantic." Stiles wraps his hand around Peter's cock at the base, knuckles brushing Peter's belly. He makes a gentle rocking, screwing motion with his encircling hand, back and forth while moving slowly up. Applying hardly any pressure, sliding along on the lube, he comes to the tip and leans down. It's hot to the touch of his closed lips. He breathes over it for a moment, licks his lips and sits up again, spreads some more lube over the tip of Peter's cock and briefly cups it in his palm. The point strains sharply into his hand. Peter groans while Stiles winds his way back to the base.

Having arrived at the base, Stiles squeezes, applying some real pressure for the first time. Then he places one open hand on one side, one on the other, pressing lightly inward with his palms. He has to regulate his own breathing. "Just looking at your hot dick is making me super hard, Peter." 

"Jesus _fucking_ Christ."

Stiles asks seriously, "Tell me how you feel."

Peter tries to tell him. Sucks in a long breath. "Waves--coming in--too slow. I need to dive in."

Stiles whimpers. His eyelashes flutter and he swallows. "Don't do that, don't jump in," He urges Peter. "Wait for me to tell you when it's okay. I know you can control yourself." 

Peter makes a sound like agreement, from between compressed lips and in the midst of a lot of rapid breaths. 

Stiles takes his hands away from Peter's cock, to the sound of a distressed moan from the werewolf, who raises his hips to try to follow Stiles's hands. Stiles touches the creases of Peter's inner thigh joints, Peter grabs Stiles's hand, tries to drag it back to his cock. Stiles fights him, unwinding Peter's fingers from his, putting Peter's hand aside and setting his own hand on Peter's balls.

Peter claws at his own hips and whines, "I'm too close."

"Shh. I don't think you're too close. Keep your hands or paws or whatever off to the side." Stiles strokes Peter's balls with one thumb, digging the knuckles of that hand into the warm crease of the thigh joint. "Okay pretty soon I'm gonna say you can come." 

Peter sighs in relief as Stiles encloses his dick with both hands. Stiles closes his eyes and feels the pulsing under his palms. He strokes the tip with a thumb and presses involuntarily with his fingertips in a reaction to a high-pitched growl from Peter. Stiles gasps quietly: "Okay," and starts stroking in earnest. Peter moans with every motion, until he's giving one long low cry; Stiles has worked up some moderate speed. 

Stiles raises himself up on his knees, balancing over Peter's thighs. Carefully, keeping up a moderate grip on Peter's erection, he holds the alpha's hip down with one hand, and strokes with the other. He keeps a careful watch on Peter's face. Under the hand holding Peter down at the inside of the hip joint, at the pelvis, he can feel the alpha's pulse. 

Peter's nose scrunches up and his lips pull into a snarl. One leg jerks up and bumps Stiles's ass. "I have to--please. Please, please let me--"

Stiles asks sternly, "Peter Hale, are you begging?"

"Jesus Christ, yes."

"Well, fucking quit it. Show some dignity."

Peter bursts out laughing, eyes still squeezed shut. He can't breathe, and laugh, and groan and beg at the same time, so he swallows and tries to get some semblance of a grip on the situation. "You've got me right where you want me, don't you?" he manages to ask. "You're amazing."

"So're you." Stiles tugs rapidly with one hand. He's watching Peter's face. He lifts his other hand off of Peter's hip and milks with both hands. "Now. Go."

Peter's arms flail, his eyeteeth flash as he roars and bucks into Stiles's hand. With the pads of his fingers Stiles feels the rhythm of the alpha's release. Peter falls back and clutches Stiles's arm. He thrusts until his cock stops twitching. Lets out a long, ragged sigh.

Stiles also has to recover. His dick has been firmed up and bobbing from the effects of managing Peter. He's still hard, but mostly self-possessed, when he adopts a smug expression and again sits astride Peter's hips. His smugness is different from Peter's. It's more wicked. "Like I said. I'll take you apart."

"I know," Peter whimpers, gulping breaths, staring at the ceiling.

Stiles leans and pets Peter's chest and sides. He stares at the small, milky pool collected in Peter's navel and at the little flattened, wet patches of his chest hair. He breathes hard and his mouth waters. He gets some semen on his thumb and fingers, sighs and licks it off, runs his tongue around the inside of his mouth and licks his lips. Hm, yeah, he decides. He wants all of it.

He curves down and sets to lapping. Peter makes small murmuring sounds and squirms when Stiles dips his tongue firmly into his belly button. When Stiles licks the depression skirting the navel, Peter overall stiffens. Stiles gives the area another teasing pass with his tongue and Peter pants. Stiles makes one more round, then settles down again to steady, cleaning licks and Peter regulates his breath.

"Stiles."

"Mm-hmm."

"I know you pleasure yourself while thinking of me. Do you sometimes recall things I've said to you in bed, to get yourself hot?"

Stiles licks his lips, and wipes his mouth with his fingers. "Yep."

"That is what's going to happen with me. That's what I'm going to do next time I'm alone. I'm going to remember some of the things you said to me tonight. I'm going to replay them over and over."

Stiles gives a tiny whimper. Goes back to devotedly washing Peter. He polishes his belly and chest until, when the spots he's licked dry off, the skin is silky and chest hair fluffy.

Peter touches his own lower lip. "Kiss me."

"I just--" Stiles reaches for his glass of water.

"No, don't touch that yet." 

"I'm getting the glass that belongs to me."

Peter smiles. "Thank you. But I want to taste you first."

So Stiles gets up on all fours, moves within easy reach and parts his lips. His eyes go half-lidded. Peter draws him in a tad closer with a touch on the chin. He inhales through his nose first, getting the details of Stiles's breath. Peter lingers until Stiles has to swallow, and when he closes his lips to do so, Peter presses him in a closed-mouth kiss. Both men simultaneously part their lips and Peter locks on. He flicks his tongue across the tip of Stiles's tongue and lets him go.

Stiles gets his breath, takes that delayed drink from his glass and rolls the water around in his mouth before swallowing. He's tired, and so hard by now that he needs to come again. He gives Peter an appealing look. 

Peter takes the bottle of lube and wipes some in and out over his fingers, makes a slight coaxing motion and Stiles gets within easy reach for stroking. Peter lubes him up, one layer, then another, then asks, "Have a place to stick it in mind?"

"Would your back be okay? Like, um, if I--outside your ass?"

"Whatever you like."

So Stiles turns Peter on his side and approaches, strokes his ass and parts the cheeks. He hitches a thigh up by Peter's hip and presses his lubed cock right up against the crease. He moans, clutching Peter about the middle; Peter helps him stay in place by reaching behind and supporting Stiles's rear.

Peter says, low, "Yes. I want to feel the warmth when you come, right on the small of my back."

Stiles presses his mouth against Peter's mid-back, steams a breath over his spine, nibbles, nuzzles. Peter's words register and create images in Stiles's mind and he whimpers, erection straining. He has, of course, heard people, on numerous occasions, refer to sex as "fun". He has always, if he thought about it at all, dismissed it as an ironic use of the word. This is fun. Playing in bed with Peter, and humping himself mindless against Peter's back, is a blast.

Peter murmurs, "Your whole body is so warm, covering me. _All_ I can think about right now, Stiles, is you humping my back. I'm going to be thinking about it tomorrow, too."

That does it for Stiles. He's so close, and at those words he snarls and shoves his chest off of Peter's back, leaving white pressure streaks where his fingers clench. He arches his hips in more tightly, pumping his dick into the crease between Peter's cheeks. His legs stiffen, rigid against the backs of Peter's legs, and he flings his hand across and grips Peter in front again, on the collarbone, for support. He comes on the fine hairs over the werewolf's spine. 

Semen dribbles from Peter's back onto the sheet.

"Good boy," Peter murmurs. He slowly turns over to face the panting Stiles and sidles close.

"Mmn. Yeah," Stiles slurs with his face scrunched up against the front of Peter's shoulder. "'m a good boy."

"You are."

"An' yer a good alpha."

Peter says modestly, "I hope so."

"Yep you are. I should know it."

"Thank you." Peter nuzzles Stiles's ear and murmurs, "I knew it." He rubs Stiles's forehead, ruffling the very short, stiffly upstanding fringe of bangs. "I knew you were my mate."

"I know you knew it," Stiles mumbles. He draws in a shuddering sigh. "I know you knew."

"I did," Peter agrees. 

"So was it what you had in mind? Was it good enough?"

"Yes, sweet boy, it was good."

Stiles cuddles up under Peter's arm, fingers curled on his chest. He opens his hand, then curls his fingers up again, petting him. "You told me to do what I wanted. I did decide pretty quickly to, you know... I thought right away of what I did first. Getting inside you."

Peter huffs through his nose, hums, and kisses Stiles on the forehead. He exhales, warming that spot he just kissed, before answering, "Yes, well. That plan was successful."

"For you?"

"Yes, for me, Stiles."

"I'm glad. It was good for me. I want to do it again. You're amazing."

"I'm amazing." Peter lifts Stiles's chin and catches his eyes. "You're amazing. That makes us both--according to us, and we should know--amazing. We're amazing."

"True that." Stiles knows that repeating such words in pleased tones is Peter's way of playing. The alpha is feeling giddy. Peter strokes his shoulder. The two of them breathe quietly in the lamplight, and Stiles is flooded with a sense of well-being.

Peter speaks. "That was special for me. The first time my mate has penetrated me. It's a big deal."

A long sigh from Stiles. "Special for me, too... Peter, can I ask you something?"

"Mm-hmm." Peter is taking sips from his water glass.

"Because I'm your mate, and you're this, like, crazy powerful alpha werewolf, and you want to, I dunno, rule at my side, I mean the other way around, me at your side..." 

Peter clasps his mate's shoulder in his palm and rocks his hand, giving Stiles a series of hugging shakes, and listens patiently until he finishes his sentence: 

"Do you expect me to mature, in the future, and become someone awesome? Or something?"

"You're awesome, in the good old-fashioned sense of the word, right this very second. But any time you need to be reminded, it's fine to ask me."

"Okay, I understand... It's just, I wasn't sure, I mean, did I or did I not have a meltdown mid-lovemaking?"

"I don't care _what_ we're doing, it is always fine to stop and share anything you need to say to me."

"And you say I'm amazing, and I get confused."

"Really. Amazing. You are."

"I remember everything you say to me, Peter."

"I know."

"But I need to check anyway."

"I know. It's alright." Peter gives Stiles another quick, jostling cuddle on the shoulder. Stiles blinks slowly, eyelids tending to stay shut longer each time. He breathes evenly through his nose.

Peter goes to the bathroom to clean up, and to bring back a barely-damp washcloth with which to clean the sleepy Stiles. When he pads back to the bed he says, "I looked at the hickeys in the mirror. The one on my throat is barely olive colored anymore. They'll be gone by morning. Pity. I'd like to see the looks I'd get at the office with a bruise showing above my shirt collar."

Stiles slurs drowsily, "I got a picture though." 

Peter finishes giving Stiles an efficient washing, then settles in next to him again. Stiles opens his eyes to say something. "Pleasant dreams," he wishes Peter earnestly.

"Thank you." Peter smiles at him and ruffles his hair. "Stiles."

Stiles closes his eyes again and mumbles, "Peter."

"I'm glad I will see you in the morning. I love you. Goodnight."

Stiles sighs; it's almost a whimper. He's half-asleep, but he cuddles Peter's arm. "Yeah, that."

 

The End


End file.
